


The Show Must Go On

by mugglerock



Series: Through the Rift [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Depressed Dean, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Suicidal Dean, Suicidal Thoughts, Two Broken People, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugglerock/pseuds/mugglerock
Summary: The next time Dean saw Castiel was over a year after the angel had left them. Had lefthim.At Sam’s funeral.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I continued it. And I have a fourth and fifth part in mind, too. But you probably won't be happy with that either.
> 
> Title and lyrics are from Queen's "The Show Must Go On."

_“Another hero, another mindless crime_

_Behind the curtain, in the pantomime_

_Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore...”_

 

The next time Dean saw Castiel was over a year after the angel had left them. Had left _him._

 

At Sam’s funeral.

 

It had been a one-off fluke. Of all of the shit the two of them had survived, or come back from, in the end it was an infection that got Sam. More specifically, a goddamn sinus infection that didn’t go away. In fact, over the course of a couple of months it worsened... and worsened. One night when Sam had a seizure, Mary and Dean rushed him to the nearest hospital. There was a lot of panic, and needles, and tubes, and monitors with shrill beeps, and fast talking, and words like, “bacterial meningitis.”

 

Dean watched as his brother was intubated and rushed to the intensive care unit. It was weird how much hope that scene had given him, a tube being rammed down your brother’s throat because he couldn’t breathe on his own should not be a hopeful sight. And it wasn’t in the end. Sam was dead four hours later.

 

It took their mom over a week to convince Dean to have a hunter’s funeral for him. He clung to the hope that Sam would come back, like one of them almost always, inevitably did. Dean wanted his brother to have a body to come back to. But it appeared that the Winchester luck had finally run out. Not that their luck had been all that great to begin with.

 

So, with the help of Jody, they arranged a small memorial at a hunter’s bar near the bunker. Dean had been surprised by just how many people in the network showed up, considering they never really associated with many hunters. Dean nodded dumbly, eyes cast downward as person after person clapped a consoling hand on his shoulder and offered their condolences.

 

He felt numb. Tired and numb. Dean didn’t look up at anyone until he was met with a painfully familiar and gravelly voice,

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

_“The show must go on,_

_The show must go on_

_Inside my heart is breaking_

_My make-up may be flaking_

_But my smile still stays on…”_

 

His breath hitched at the two words that had come to mean more to him than even he had realized. Finally lifting his gaze, met with beautifully sorrowful and sympathetic blue eyes, he had to refrain from crumpling against his former best friend. Dean forced a small smile. “Hey, Cas.”

 

Cas made no attempt to initiate physical contact, but his hands appeared to twitch with the urge to. His features were soft, eyes kind. “I wish I had the sort of words that were even remotely consoling. When Mary prayed to tell me what happened, I couldn’t believe it…”

 

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. The glimmer of hope in the back of his mind that _maybe_ Cas just couldn’t hear his prayers flew out the window. The numbness was making way for pain and he couldn’t deal with that right then. Dean nodded and clapped a hand on the angel’s shoulder as he slipped by him, straight to the bar. He made it a point to ignore the surprised and sad look Cas gave in response.

 

The bartender, a young brunette, short hair and several facial piercings, offered him a soft smile. “What can I get you?”

 

“Whiskey straight, and make it a double.”

 

She nodded, grabbed a dirty glass, and started pouring four fingers worth of Jack. As she slid the glass towards Dean, she offered another smile. “On the house.”

 

Dean nodded to her and slammed the alcohol back in one gulp. At her impressed eyebrow quirk, she proceeded to refill the glass without him even asking. By the fourth double, she left the bottle next to his glass and moved on to the next patron who was trying to order something.

 

Dean stopped with the pretense and grabbed the bottle, moving to the seclusion of a small booth in the corner of the bar. Taking a swig as he slumped into the cracking and flattened cushion of the bench, he let out a soft sigh. He wanted to feel as physically numb as he was emotionally. Sammy was dead and now he was stuck in a room with the guy who broke his heart. The guy whose heart he was responsible for breaking. And all at his brother’s goddamn funeral. Life wasn’t fair, but Dean already knew that.

 

When the shadow of someone cascaded over his grip on the square shaped bottle as they sat across from him at the booth, he shouldn’t have been surprised that it was Cas.

 

“I’m sorry,” was all the angel offered.

 

Dean shrugged. “Not your fault…” He couldn’t bring himself to look up. If he did, he might cry for the first time since he watched his brother exhale his last breath. Dean preferred the numbness, he was sick and fucking tired of feeling pain, of feeling broken.

 

Cas reached out his hand, gently covering Dean’s own over the whiskey bottle. Dean was torn between retracting his hand and moving it and gripping on tightly, to never let the angel go again. Instead he simply turned to look up, having to bite his lip to refrain from gasping at the unadulterated love he saw shimmering in the depths of unfathomable blue.

 

_“Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance_

_Another heartache, another failed romance_

_On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?”_

 

By the time everyone had left and the bar closed, Dean was three sheets to the wind and barely able to stand, let alone drive. When Cas offered to drive him back to the bunker, his thoughts screamed what a terrible idea it was, what a terrible idea it had the potential to be; but Dean couldn’t bring himself to say no.

 

Cas basically had to carry him to his room, legs unsteady and weighed down from grief and an entire bottle of whiskey.

 

He practically collapsed onto his bed when they finally reached Dean’s room. He flipped onto his back, leaning up against the pillow, focus a little blurry as he watched Cas stand there, unsure and hesitant. Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was their proximity after over a year, maybe it was the combination of the two coinciding on the day of his little brother’s funeral; but Dean broke then. Unable to hold it in any longer, Dean’s breathing became ragged and broken as his chest heaved, sobs wracking him; mind, body, and soul.

 

When he felt the gentle clasp of a hand on his shoulder, met with a concerned gaze, Dean yanked Cas forward into a hug. The hushed and soothing sounds that filled his ears made his heart swell with that damnable hope again. Dean drew back, searching his old friend’s face for confirmation that what he was feeling wasn’t one-sided. His vision was blurry, his mind even more so, but he didn’t care.

 

Dean pressed forward and captured Cas’s lips in a desperate kiss; one that spoke of all of the yearning, the irretrievable loss, the love he had for the angel. When Cas pushed him away, the numbness from earlier was lost, and so was Dean.

 

“Dean, you’re drunk,” Cas said as he held him at bay, but remaining at his side.

 

He let out a bitter laugh as he slurred, “Doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

 

The look on Cas’s face was wrought with regret. He shook his head. “You’re in mourning. I should leave you to it.”

 

Dean gripped onto Cas’s shoulders, moving to sit up on his knees. “Tell me right now, tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I’ll never bother you again.” He hated begging, but the slowly cracking organ that used to be his heart was clinging onto any possibility of hope.

 

Cas’s lip trembled as he turned his gaze downward between them. “I can’t.”

 

“You can’t what, Cas? Love me?”

 

After what felt like hours, the angel finally turned to look up at him. Eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he gently peeled Dean’s grasp from his shoulders. Cas moved to stand, his voice cracking slightly when he finally breathed out a soft, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

He didn’t even hear the door close over the sound of his heart shattering.

 

_“I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now_

_I'll soon be turning, round the corner now_

_Outside the dawn is breaking_

_But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free…”_

 

After a fitful night’s rest and a long, hot shower, Dean felt much more sober. His decision was resolute then. What did he have left? Why should he even bother?

 

He pulled out his nicest suit, methodically buttoning up the white shirt before tucking it into his black slacks. His hands only slightly trembled as he pulled the dark blue tie into a double windsor. Dean shrugged on his jacket and sat down at his desk.

 

Opening the drawer with a shaky creak, Dean sighed as he pulled out his revolver. He gently caressed the weapon, enjoying the weight of it in his hands. He sent out a silent prayer as he rifled through the drawer for ammunition.

 

_Whether you want to believe me or not, I do love you. I’ll never not love you._

 

A hot tear trailed down his cheek as he cocked the gun and wrapped his lips around the barrell.


End file.
